


Tipping Point

by FraiseDeHotot



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Unhealthy Relationships, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FraiseDeHotot/pseuds/FraiseDeHotot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave fails to masturbate, but not for want of trying. Mostly because Bro's being a dick. Hopefully, because the alternative is too terrifying to be considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dave Strider was a cool kid with a variety of interests. He engaged in all the activities you’d expect from a teenage cool kid in either ironic or more rarely sincere ways, with one exception.

Dave Strider did not masturbate.

It wasn’t simply that he didn’t feel capable of doing so in a suitably ironic fashion, like his Bro could, though that was true. Dave’s Bro had a PHD in irony. Bro’s fetishistic puppet paraphernalia was a masterstroke, somehow lucrative while remaining ironic beyond comprehension. Dave wasn’t sure if his Bro actually got off to his own puppet porn, though if he did it would not doubt be in a way that somehow made it cool instead of just kind of weird. Dave had never actually seen his Bro masturbate, and the labyrinth of New Folders on his Bro’s computer proved beyond Dave’s abilities to navigate. If there was a treasure trove of material locked away in there that might give a clue as to his Bro’s true inclinations, Dave had never found it. He liked to pretend he just got bored, rather than disturbed by the landmines of pictures tucked away in various folders probably for the exact purpose of warding him off.

But all of that was irrelevant to why Dave himself abstained. It certainly wasn’t lack of need either. At the very moment, Dave was struggling to keep his cool when on its own, his body got inexplicably aroused during a conversation with John. It was clearly nearing quota time for the mysterious boner fairies and one especially lazy asshole decided to just stick around Dave and unleash the full hundred year supply of boners at once.

It was distracting enough that Dave convinced himself that this time would be different, this time he’d be careful enough. Dave glanced around the room and casually gripped the chair between his legs. He waited a breath before rubbing against his own arm in inexperienced, clumsy grinding motions. He bit his lip to suppress any noise, imagining his motions to be subtle, less risky than actually taking his dick out of his pants. The fact that he had no clue what he was doing didn’t stop the fact that his body ached with need. In fact, the inefficiency of his own movements just made him more desperate for something more fulfilling.

His breathing became heavier, and he struggled to swallow an embarrassingly needy moan. His eyes darted around the room, warily. But all seemed as it should be. His entire body was aching now, and he felt almost like a puppet himself, with a thousand strings aching with pleasure all leading from various parts of his body to his cock, making him twitch desperately at the faintest touch. The idea was disturbing, Dave had no idea where it came from and did his best to shake it off.

He didn’t pull his pants down, not yet. He just stood up, trying to keep the body language of his trembling form casual, and checked to make sure his door was locked. It never seemed to matter, but he did it anyway. He then scanned the room again, desperately. Saw nothing.

The day was sweltering; not that there was a day in the godforsaken hellhole that was Texas that wasn’t. Despite that, he crossed the room and closed the window, just in case. The press of heat against him was immediate, sapping at his strength to the point he felt sick. But even with that, his boner raged on, determined.

Dave stripped; with the window closed clothes were just too much. He returned to his computer chair, plopped down, and readied himself, dong in one hand, mouse in the other. He moved to close the chat window, but paused. Should he text John or something? Didn’t seem right to just leave him hanging to go get off, that’s not how you treat your best bro. But what was he going to do, keep talking to John like nothing was wrong while he jerked off? His cock twitched in his hand. He was way too horny for this. He closed the chat window, and opened Hephaestus. He stared at the browser window for a moment, and then uncreatively searched ‘porn’ in the images tab. It was pretty pathetic, and he was glad no one was there to see it. He scrolled down absently, pausing any time there was a picture his body responded to.

It took some experimentation, something he had given himself little chance to do, but he finally started to figure out ways to touch and gently pull that actually felt good. The building pleasure became enough on its own, and his eyes shuddered closed. His unconscious played with the images he had just been staring at in random ways, and he moaned before he could stop himself. Dave froze. Dread tightened in his stomach as he slowly opened his eyes.

LiL’ Cal sat on his monitor, dead eyes staring into Dave, ever-grinning mouth slightly sack, drooping limbs blocking half the pictures, a stupidly smiling smuppet draped over the puppet’s lap.

Dave let out what was definitely  _ not  _ a high pitched screech. He punched at Lil’ Cal but the puppet was already gone. Dave’s fist collided with the smuppet instead, which squeaked on contact.

Dave stared, sweating, panting. He was hot, horny, angry, terrified. No, not terrified, of course. Just… just frustrated. Lil’ Cal was cool, not like he actually scared Dave or anything. Just… just Dave didn’t actually want him there when he was masturbating. Didn’t want to feel those dead eyes on him, unsure if they were judging or enjoying or which would be worse. Unsure if it would be more disturbing to know if Bro kept bringing him there or if Lil’ Cal had somehow animated himself to  ~~ torment ~~ play pranks on him, or which was the more disturbing thought. 

Dave fell back into his chair, then yelped and jumped back again, spinning around. Cal sat in his chair, a smuppet on either side. Dave gritted his teeth, clenching his fists, took several deep breaths. Couldn’t lose his cool. Bro would be ashamed, seeing him flipping out like this.

Assuming he wasn’t watching right now, which was admittedly pretty unlikely.  ~~ Dave really couldn’t handle the implications if Bro wasn’t watching and had nothing to do with this no don’t think about that . ~~

Dave let out a long breath. See, everything was fine. He was handling this. Calm. No flipping off the handle here. He and the handle were going through couples counseling, working shit out. Exchanging awkward love letters, finding romance in their relationship again. Fuck, no, stop thinking about metaphors when horny, they just get weird.

He picked up Lil’ Cal, and the puppet’s head flopped against bare chest, icy cold in the heat. A shudder went up Dave’s spine and he had to suppress the urge to toss Lil’ Cal away again. He couldn’t do something like that, of course. It wouldn’t be cool. Cal was totally rad and these random pranks were just one of the many amusing quirks that made him so lovable.

Dave unlocked his door, and peered out. Coast seemed clear, at least. He headed to the main room. If he were braver, he’d consider sticking Cal back in the trunk that his Bro put him in whenever taking him to a show. Instead, he laid him down on the couch, hoping he’d just stay there.

“Where the fuck are your pants?”

Dave jumped, heat racing up his face. He turned to the kitchen where his Bro was standing, leaning against the counter, bottle of Faygo in hand, face utterly unreadable behind his ridiculously ironic anime shades. The only possible upside Dave could think of was that Cal had already killed his boner earlier. “...it’s hot.” Dave said, shrugging in feigned nonchalance.

His Bro raised an eyebrow, closed the bottle. “Dave, go get your sword.”

Dave bristled. “What?”

“You clearly need some endurance training.” Bro strode to the living room casually, not even bothering to flash step. “I start when I grab my sword. Get moving.”

The hairs on the back of Dave’s neck rose. He knew his Bro too well to think this was a joke. He raced back to his room as fast as he could, slamming the door. It was an act meant to buy time rather than an attempt at the impossible task of keeping his Bro out.  
He grabbed his boxers, yanking them up. The door opened, and Dave launched himself across the room, grabbed his sword mid air and landed in a roll. He lept up to face his Bro.

Bro gave Dave a split second to orient himself. He held his own sword casually, Lil Cal next to him, appearing to levitate, faint twitches and the hint of shadows dancing behind him. Bro was puppeteering Cal, moving too fast to see, unbothered by the fact that such a thing should be physically impossible. “Seems you can handle something like pants after all.” He said. He sounded amused.

Dave felt another blush coming on, but tried to play it cool with a one armed shrug. “I mean it’s that or have my dong dancing around all over the place like breasts in a bad hentai and no one wants to see that.”

Bro’s lip twitched a fraction, which for him was practically bursting out laughing. Then he was coming at Dave. Dave’s response was made sluggish by the heat and he couldn’t lift the sword in time to block the hit.

The flat of Bros’ blade sent him flying backwards, but before he could hit the wall, he was kicked through the air from the opposite direction. He coughed, struggling for breath and strength, and tried to find traction somewhere.

Bro gave him half a moment to land on his feet, and then was on him again. Dave used every ounce of strength he had, but like always, Bro simply toyed with Dave, sending his body tumbling about like just another puppet dancing on Bro’s strings.

Dave was already exhausted with the heat, and every swing felt like pushing through sand. He did worse then usual, which only encouraged Bro to attack him with more brutality so he’d get it right. Bro didn’t cut, he didn’t need to cut. He had too much skill for that. But bruises sprouted like dark roses across the albino-white of Dave’s skin from the relentless assault.

Bro abruptly stopped, gaze unreadable as he watched Dave fall to the ground. Somehow they had ended up in the living room. The force of hitting the ground pushed the air from his lungs, and Dave sucked it back in desperately, gasping. Bro leaned against a wall, watching him.

Dave grit his teeth, squeezing the sweat soaked hilt of his sword, its cords digging painfully into his hands, and forced himself up. His Bro gave the slightest of nods, and Dave hated how desperately his heart thrummed at this miniscule sign of approval.

Despite that, the encouragement was enough to send him charging at his Bro, only to be unceremoniously knocked back. It all began again, until Dave found his twitching muscles refusing to respond when he tried to pull himself up.

He panted, soaked and sticky with his own sweat, and every inch of his body ached or stung or burned or all three at once. Footsteps approached, and Bro’s foot tapped at his back.

“Up, Dave.” Bro instructed.

Dave swallowed, squeezing his eyes closed. He bit back a protest that he couldn’t. Couldn’t wasn’t in a Strider’s vocabulary. He forced himself up on shaky hands, trying to ignore the way his muscles screamed in protest. He had to pause, gasping for breath, while still on his knees. His back felt like Egypt, burning hot with a veritable Nile river of sweat flowing down it. He gulped at the air, body shaking.

Then he felt the cool sharpness of his Bro’s blade at the base of his back, and he froze. The weapon was blissfully cold and he found himself having to suppress the mad desire to lean into it. His Bro had insane control, and the touch of the blade was feather-light against him, despite the fact that Dave knew for a fact his Bro kept it perfectly sharpened. “Up.” His Bro repeated.

Dave swallowed again. Even his sweat felt like it was boiling, everything did except Bro’s katana. Still, he forced his legs to obey. They did so with trembling protest, and Dave wasn’t sure he’d have the strength until the moment he was finally standing.

The blade slid along Dave’s back and side, sending shivers down his spine. It was too light to bother his new bruises. It trailed sideways and downward, the gentle touch welcome after the harsh treatment. Dave was surprised by just how disappointed he was when it finally left his skin to tap his own sword where it remained abandoned on the floor. “You’re forgetting something.” Bro said mercilessly.

Dave swallowed his protest. He inhaled and exhaled once, and then leaned down before Bro grew impatient. It felt like his shitty sword weighed a thousand pounds. He struggled to lift it, then twisted so the blade faced down, using it as a brace to help himself up.

Bro stared at him, then kicked the blade. Dave fell over with a cry of alarm. There wasn’t nearly as much force as when Bro knocked him about in a fight. But he was already in pain, and now he  _ really _ wasn’t sure if he could make it up again. Dave just let himself lay there for a moment, not wanting to move.

“Fuck, bro, this is getting downright embarrassing.” Dave’s Bro said.

Dave blushed, tried to think of something to say. He could wield words better than swords, paint pictures that stabbed straight into the amygdala of his enemies and send spikes of terror into their body they straight up could not run away from. Right at that moment, however, all he could think about was that he was exhausted, and in pain, and his Bro had straight up humiliated him. He closed his eyes, surrendering to it. He was spent, half naked, bruised all over, exhausted. He didn’t want to move anymore.

The silence stretched out, then Dave heard his Bro’s weight shift. Dave tried to pull away, but barely twitched before Bro’s hand slammed down, pinning Dave to the floor. He hissed in pain, and glared over his shoulder. Bro stared impassively down at him. Bro’s fingers were rough, his palms softened by the gloves he wore. “Done making out with the floor or do you two need some more time together? I’ll give you the space if you need it bro.”

Dave grit his teeth. “Fuck off.”

“Why? Need some pointers?”

Dave’s eyes widened, and his face became almost as red as his eyes. “What? No, fuck, fuck no!”

He squirmed desperately. Bro lifted his hand, and Dave struggled to pull himself up, arms shaking. He panted, shifting backwards onto his ass to make things easier on himself.

“Need some help, princess?”

“Nah, ‘m cool.” Dave said.

Bro poked him, and he fell over, teeth clicking together as he swallowed a string of swears. Bro then swept Dave up and swung him over a shoulder like it was Christmas and Bro was Santa, ready to give a very good kid a very special present.

“Bro, let me down!”

Bro released his hand on Dave’s back, and he slipped. Dave clutched at his Bro instinctually.

“Change your mind?” Bro asked.

Dave said nothing. Bro started walking, and Dave felt himself slipping again.

“Okay, fine, yes. I changed my mind!” Dave cried.

Bro’s hand resettled in the same position, though with how far Dave had slipped, it now rested right on the younger boy’s ass. Dave let his own arms fall, blushing.

Bro didn’t go far at least, just opening the door to Dave’s room, and hurling Dave unceremoniously onto the bed. Dave bounced, but at least this time it wasn’t hard ground.

Dave groaned, and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The light in the room had changed. How long had that strife been? He tilted his head, staring at his computer. He should pester John. But even the thought of walking to his computer sounded awful right then, and he hadn’t gotten any cooler, only sticky. And thirsty.

He had barely thought that, when something hit his stomach hard enough to bounce into the air. Dave caught it, staring at it. It was actually cool, beads of condensation still forming on it. Considering the lack of refrigerator, that meant it didn’t come from the house. Dave looked to the door.

“Get some electrolytes, bro.” Bro said, face still unreadable. Then he was gone.

Dave returned his attention to the container, turning it over in his hands. Golden liquid, the picture of an ecstatic apple on the front. AJ. Dave popped it open immediately and began guzzling it down, and almost cried from the pleasure of it. God, it was cool and quenching and delicious.

He didn’t stop until he had swallowed all of it. No point in letting it get hot, after all. When he had swallowed every last drop, he allowed his hand to fall to his side and closed his eyes.

Well, on the bright side, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting changed for bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited the first chapter. I really need to not post things at 2am without editing, my apologies.  
> I wrote this originally because I wanted to fulfill my desire for Stridercest, but it’s become sort of an exploration of Bro/Dirk and Dave’s relationship because that’s kind of the part that I find most fascinating.  
> Oh also I was originally thinking of switching between Dirk and Dave’s perspectives with chapters, but decided not to for now to keep peeps guessing about what Dirk’s thinking.  
> And, lastly, sorry this took so long! On the upside, it became much longer than I expected.

Dave stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dripping after his morning shower. It was the only mirror in the house, and the only place he could scrutinize himself and the marks from the day before. His skin was unfortunately sensitive both to pain and discoloration, and the attempts by Bro to strife that sensitivity out of him had thus far been unsuccessful. He hated the way bruises stood out against his albino skin. It made him look like a dalmatian.

Dave turned slightly, checking his back. His Bro was careful, at least. Bruises only ended up in spots that would be easy to hide with a T-shirt. Dave schooled his features, and then began rubbing himself down with the towel. Pain lanced through him; he wasn’t gentle with his bruises. He preferred to get it over with as fast as possible. This time, he hid his teeth behind pursed lips, holding his poker face in place.

Why was it always easier to do when Bro wasn’t there?

Dave tossed the towel on the hanger and pulled on his clothes. His jeans felt rough against the bruises. Even the brush of his shirt sent unpleasant spikes of sensation. But Dave held his expression still, barely twitching.

Dave opened the door to the hall, doing a quick scan. He darted to his room, closing the door with a sigh of relief. The fact that he had to get to school wasn’t going to stop his Bro from initiating a strife. That would defeat the point of ‘always being on guard.’

Dave grabbed his backpack, and stopped by his computer. It was way too early for John to be up, but he typed up a quick message for when woke.

 

****TG: hey bro sorry about yesterday** **

**TG: got mobbed by some of my fans you know how it is**

**TG: poured through my window like a murder of crows**

**TG: started fighting over me like im beyonces bedazzled thong**

**TG: it was a brutal fucking bloodbath im glad you were spared witnessing it**

**TG: anyway talk later**

The message reminded Dave of the last time he had left the window open and a crow had come in to investigate his collection, actually flying flying off with an insect in amber. Dave hesitated, but as long as he kept everything shut off and the hallway door closed, it’d probably stay cooler in his room.

Dave shut down his computer, closed the window to keep the crows out, grabbed his backpack and trotted out the door. Occasionally, when Bro felt like it, or remembered, or maybe it was whenever Dave did something Bro approved of, or maybe some perfect storm of all those things (Dave had yet to figure out the exact metrics) Bro would leave some cash for school lunches by the door.

‘Some cash’ usually meant ‘whatever was in Bro’s pocket at the time.’ On the best days, it meant over a hundred in tip money. On the worst, it could be a couple cents. Dave had learned quickly it was best to save some of the best for dry spells: those periods when he had done something to piss Bro off or when Bro simply hadn’t been carrying a lot of cash. When there were a few good days in a row, though, it meant Dave could tuck money away for extra AJ or his own hobbies. This was how he got his darkroom supplies, or cool taxidermied animals. He usually didn’t bother spending it on things like swords or music shit, not because Dave didn’t like those too, but because Bro was usually more willing to buy that for him in his spontaneous moments of charity. Even his awesome old school turntables were a gift from Bro, proving he was pretty much the best brother ever.

Today, there was a ten dollar bill wedged between the proffered foam cheeks of a smuppet. Dave took it cautiously, prepared for Bro to appear and make sure he had properly earned the money via strife, but nothing happened. Bro only did it some of the time, of course. Bro didn’t like to be predictable.

Dave left the house without seeing Bro. This was in part a relief; he didn’t want to be late for school, and Bro saw the trek there and back as a chance for more training, meaning Dave wasn’t allowed to take any form of transport. Dave had once pointed out that this was unfair, considering Bro travelled everywhere by rocketboard. This comment was of course a terrible mistake, as Bro made it very clear to Dave that the rocketboard was a privilege he was nowhere near earning. It was a thorough enough lesson Dave actually had to take a few days off of school, and he had never brought it up again.

But not being ambushed by Bro also left Dave with a feeling of dread. Bro had given him AJ (and fresh, still-cold AJ at that), hadn’t strifed him at all this morning, and had left him lunch money without forcing him to endure any sort of trial at all. That was way, way too many positives in a row, especially after Dave hadn’t done anything to really earn it. Something was coming, and the best Dave could do to prepare was be on guard and try his best to do things his Bro would approve of. Not that he wouldn’t already do things his Bro approved of, seeing as all the things his Bro approved of were totally awesome.  
Dave’s school was about an hours walk for most people. Dave usually made it in half an hour if he was going easy. But going easy was definitely never something Bro approved of, so Dave decided to book it and as a consequence ended up at school ridiculously early. He entered his classroom instead of waiting outside, mostly because it was air conditioned.

Dave sat second seat from the back next to the window, his preferred spot. He had originally found the thought sitting in the anime protagonist seat to be both funny, and an act he felt his Bro would approve of on an ironic level, and John might appreciate on a more sincere level. By now, it was more done out of habit than anything. None of his classmates really made the association, not really the ones to scrutinize the media they absorbed on such a meta level. Or, maybe they just didn’t watch anime. Dave didn’t really know or care.

Dave pulled out his phone, hoping to see someone online. Obviously John was still asleep, and Rose had already started class, but Jade might be available. It was just Jade and her grandpa and crazy demon dog on Hellmurder Island and Dave was rather sure she didn’t have anything resembling ordered classes, and besides it was probably lunch time for her or some shit. He pestered her, hoping she’d be awake or if asleep at least coherent.

He got no immediate response. Pulling up his headphones, Dave put on the current song he was planning on remixing. While he listened, he posted the beginning of some at least semi-ironic furry roleplay, hoping to tempt Jade into a response.

Students trickled in a little at a time. A few glanced Dave’s way, but none of them approached. Dave wasn’t sure if it was the sunglasses, or poker face, or some mysterious influence from the anime hero chair… or maybe that one time someone time in first grade when a couple fourth graders had seen the cash Bro had left him that day and tried to mess with him and Dave had accidentally maybe hit them a little too hard when he tried to brush them off and sent them flying.

He had been so used to strifing with Bro, it was the first time he got a hint that other kids weren’t martially adept. The teachers assumed an older kid had stepped in to stop it, and Dave was trying to protect his savior with silence. The fourth graders encouraged this lie, not wanting to admit losing to a first grader, and Dave never faced any consequences. Even Bro wasn’t angry, though he knew exactly what happened without Dave having to say a word. He even treated Dave to McDonald's that night, so he clearly approved of what happened, even if he didn’t outright say anything. But other students had seen, and even if they didn’t speak up to teachers, they whispered to each other, and overnight Dave developed a reputation as some sort of super badass. A really terrifying super badass, especially since his expression hadn’t changed during or after the brief encounter. Really, it seemed like the scuffle (not even a scuffle from Dave’s perspective) had meant a lot to everyone except Dave.

After, his classmates gave him a wide berth. It was a respectful one, and people seemed to accept him as a Cool Kid, but it was with an awed distance. Everyone in his class was too intimidated to even talk to him.

But that was okay. Dave had John, and Rose, and Jade. Each was a thousand times more awesome than the entire school combined. Sometimes, though, Dave wished they lived closer, and could all go to school together. That would be pretty fucking perfect. They could go to John’s after school, where he could try some of the Dad Cake Egbert was always complaining about. Hell, maybe they could all live in Washington or New York or even Monkey Scream Island. Okay, maybe not the latter, Dave had enough trouble forging for food in the city much less attempting it on some tropical jungle island, but the point was he could be somewhere that wasn’t constantly as hot as the devil’s armpit.

The sound of the warning bell broke through his reverie, and Dave reluctantly pulled off his headset, glancing at the phone one last time. Still no responce from Jade, or (less surprisingly) anyone else. Today was going to be a long day.

Dave got his poetry assignment back for English. His had been a sweet rap, of course. The teacher had crossed out some swear words with a red pen and had a note that Dave’s guardian was to see it and speak to her. Dave’s lip twitched very slightly upward, as much a smile as his poker face would allow. Bro would get a kick out of the swearing and note and Dave knew his rhymes were as fresh as a pubescent boy in a bus full of supermodels and Bro maybe even would give him a bit of a nod or something.

Most the day after that went pretty well. Assignments he got back weren’t perfect but were good enough, and no other notes to take back and show Bro. Lunch was chicken nuggets, not as good as McDonalds chicken nuggets but they still made a good breakfast. Jade had gotten back by then and Dave was even able to get in a bit of roleplaying. When he was leaving the cafeteria, he even heard one of his classmates mention Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. They of course had no idea that he had authored it and Dave hadn’t stuck around to listen, but by its very nature, any discussion of it at all was a compliment. The day couldn’t stay good, of course, because his last class was his worst. Physical Education.

Dave loathed PE. Sure, he was probably more fit than anyone else in the school would ever be in their entire lives. That’s just sort of what happens when you have an amazing Bro who’s a sweet ninja that’s been mentoring you since before you can eat solid food. But there was a difference between being able to move like a total badass and actually being interested in sports. The only sport Dave was interested in was strifing, and if he was being entirely honest with himself it was less real interest and more basic survival skills.

Unfortunately, Dave’s PE teacher was also the coach to most of (or maybe all of, Dave didn’t really pay much attention) their school sports teams, and seemed to view Dave’s combination of capability and apathy as some sort of personal affront. He knew Dave casually broke records in everything from rope climbs to track, and seemed enraged that Dave had no interest in using that considerable ability to win the school a multitude of sports awards… ..or even, at the very least, learn the rules of Basketball. He also was particularly easy to offend by Dave’s many offhanded insinuations that sweaty guys throwing themselves at each other and sharing a locker room was pretty much the most homoerotic activity the school had to offer.

Upon realizing how sensitive the coach was to the suggestive snark, Dave had, of course, upped the ante, increasing the frequency of his commentary and changing the wording of his casual disinterest to apply more to the homosexuality then the sports themselves. Seeing the coach invent new shades of red in response was pretty hilarious… Bro’s expression when his grade in PE had dipped, significantly less so. It wasn’t that his Bro even particularly cared at the sports, either. It was the failure that Bro disliked, particularly failure in something that should be pretty easy for Dave. Dave hadn’t even opened his mouth before Bro shut him up, just two words: “No excuses.”

Dave had never considered his words _excuses_. More exercises of wit and wordplay, explanation and entertainment coupled together like a perfect orgy of pb and j between whole wheat covers. He didn’t like hearing them called ‘excuses,’ but he wasn’t about to tell his Bro that. Instead, he swallowed his words, accepted his punishment. And when he returned to class, he backed off a bit on his mockery, at least to the coach’s face, and went through the motions when they had to play some stupid sport or other, though the rules and terminology of them blended together in his head and Dave still considered the entire exercise a complete waste of time.

Besides, there were plenty of other things they did in PE. Dodgeball was both simple and ridiculously easy. Running, jumping, rope climbing, all child’s play. Dave had hoped they would be doing one of the many other non-sports things that day, but no. In fact, today was football, the one Dave liked least. Football reminded of him being buried in a pile of smuppets, only with some impudent shoulder pads to go with the impudent asses.

Several members of the football team were in Dave’s class, and they had been privy to his many snide allusions and taken as much offense as the coach. They tried to arrange for Dave to get the ball so they could tackle him as hard as possible. Scratch that, _attempt_ to tackle him. It was like trying to dodge a pair of copulating snails that decided to charge you mid fuck: only difficult by virtue of how distractingly hilarious it was to watch. Even when they succeeded, their worst tackles were like the gentle tap of smuppets. Which, in a weird way, was kind of worse.

To them, Dave was an easy target. He wasn’t built looking like someone who could kick anyone’s ass. He was scrawny. He kept waiting for himself to get taller and broader, more like Bro. At the least, he’d like it if he couldn’t count his own ribs. Dave tried not to think about how the many days where he didn’t have anything to eat besides a bag of doritos might affect his growth.

Dave bit his tongue, and managed to make it through the class without saying a word. The coach glared at him, but he had made enough motions towards the ball, even catching it at one point and running a bit, that he didn’t get called out.

The final bell rang, releasing them. Dave’s classmates hurried to the locker rooms much faster than they had bothered running during the game. Dave didn’t join them. He bent over, untying and tying his shoes. When he had done that, he stood, brushed off his stupid looking uniform, and slowly, slowly walked towards the lockers. Ideally, everyone would be finishing up their showers before Dave even started changing. Some days it mattered less, but there were way too many bruises to explain away today.

He opened the door to the locker room. It was still pretty full, so Dave cut across the room to attached bathrooms until the noise died down a bit more. Finally, he approached his locker, and was just about to open it when he sensed a presence next to him.

He closed his eyes behind his glasses, let out a long breath through his nose, and turned. The three members of the football team in Dave’s class (he had never bothered to learn their name) had been creeping towards him. They froze when he turned to face him, wearing stupidly surprised expressions, despite the fact that they were loud as a dancing rhinoceros.

Dave tilted his head, and leaned lazily against his locker, hands in his pocket. “Yo if you want a show I’m going to have to charge, and I’m way outside your price range, so you should probably just leave.”

That got them. He saw anger and embarrassment flash across their faces. It was so easy to rile them up Dave almost felt guilty. Almost.

The one in the center spoke. “Strider, we really need to have a talk about your fucking attitude problem.”

Dave’s face was unreadable behind his glasses. “Yeah I know I’m dope as fuck and it’s pretty intimidating and all that but you sound like a fucking grandpa when you talk about ‘attitude problems.’ It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed to stand next to you.”

The guy actually tried to crack his knuckles, like he was the villain in a bad cartoon. They didn’t actually crack, however. His mouth worked a few seconds as he tried one more time, until it almost looked like he was wringing his hands together instead. Dave wished he had his camera, but it was still in the locker.

“This,” said the middle one again, “is exactly the kind of shit I’m talking about. You’re just some loser with a big mouth who thinks they’re all that, and I’m getting really fucking sick of it. You keep making stupid gay jokes, maybe because you’re the gay one.”

“Says the guy who chooses to have this conversation while I’m supposed to be taking my clothes off.” Dave said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not on me that you want a peak. Look, I appreciate that you guys find it as hard as anyone else to keep your hands off me, I’m sexy as fuck. But I’m so far out of your league it’s fucking pathetic and everyone knows it.”

“Oh that’s it. I’ve had enough of you and your stupid fucking sunglasses!” With that declaration, the man reached forward to grab Dave’s sunglasses.

Dave grabbed his rest, arresting him before he could even touch the sweet aviators John had given him. This was no longer funny. “Do you really want to go there?” He asked, letting a hint of steel dip into his voice, like his Bro did whenever he was serious.

The one on the right laughed. “Are you really trying to threaten us? Not only are we going to kick your ass, but Coach is gonna make sure you’re the only one who takes the fall for it.”

Dave shrugged the shoulder of the arm not still holding the middle guy’s arm, who was now trying to pull his hand away and getting increasingly panicky about not being able to. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll get in trouble for literally kicking your asses through a wall. I’ll probably have to cover the repair bill and everything.”

The one on his left looked slightly nervous. ‘This is a fucking joke.’ Dave said. Middle guy was now insistently yanking on his arm, as hard as he could, trying and failing to act calm. Dave let go and he fell back into one of the others.

“Oh fuck you!” Snarled the guy on the right, moving forward, but the one on the left grabbed him.

“Hold on, man.” Lefty hissed quietly, “Maybe those rumors are true. Look at Anthony’s wrist…”

Dave tuned out the words, not really caring. He felt gross. He just wanted to go get clean and get the hell out. Especially since Bro loved his showers and had a tendency to spend hours in the shower, using up all the cold water.

There was movement and his attention snapped back, ready to fight in an instant. But they were just heading out, loudly proclaiming about how Dave was a waste of their time. Dave didn’t bother calling them on their bullshit. They really weren’t worth _his_ time.

He pulled off his uniform, and hurried to the showers. He brought his sunglasses over, placing them on a shelf next to it. It was only when he did that he really felt naked. He instinctively ducked his head, lowering his eyes. He showered quickly, just in case anyone hung back, and didn’t relax again until he had returned the sunglasses to his face. Part of him wondered what it meant that he was more worried about someone seeing him without his glasses then noticing the bruises. The latter would definitely land him in a lot more trouble on multiple counts. Bro would be pissed, of course. And, also, people wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t want his Bro to get in trouble for it from someone who just didn’t _get_ strifing, even if he knew it would just be temporary. It’d probably hurt him in a myriad of ways.

On the other hand, someone seeing him without his glasses would be… uncomfortably intimate. He always wore them, always kept his eyes shielded. Dave couldn’t imagine quoting the cliche “the eyes are the window to the soul” even ironically, but the saying made instant sense to him, even if he wouldn’t admit it. His eyes, at the least, were expressive, perhaps in part because he had the least experience training that part of his poker face. There was also the fact that they were unusual, to say the least. Even other albinos more commonly had eyes that were blue or pink or even purple, not brilliant, blood red. Somehow, that just made it all the more private. If given the choice of wearing a full suit without sunglasses, or not wear a shred of clothing except for them, he would choose naked with sunglasses, every time. It could be in front of one person, or in front of a crowd, it didn’t matter.

Dave was spacing out, pulling his normal clothing on, when he heard a soft gasp. He whipped his head around, just in time to see a form darting behind the rows of lockers, and hear the retreating sound of shoes slapping the cement floor. His heart fluttered with panic, and he seemed cemented to the floor, pants halfway up his body, breath frozen in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, glancing at himself. He was absolutely filthy with bruises, and with his wet hair, it would be hard to play off as being dirty or anything. “Hey!” He called out. He was embarrassed when his voice wavered.

But he heard no response, and hadn’t seen them. An involuntary shudder ran down his body. How could he have been so careless?! How had he not _heard_ them!? He swallowed, trying to force himself to be calm. It wasn’t as if they could have seen much of anything. They couldn’t have been there for more than half a second. Dave yanked up his pants and made quick work of getting dressed. Dave suppressed the shaking, schooled his features into the appropriate poker face. Yet he couldn’t shake the bad feeling. Someone had seen something, and if Dave wasn’t careful, this could go very bad for him.

Normally, Dave lingered at school, finishing up his homework in one of the air conditioned classrooms or the library, free from risk of strifing. Today, went straight home.

It was always worst to come back to a quiet apartment, so Dave couldn’t help but feel relief when he opened the door and heard the sound of sick beats and Pro Skater being played. Silence was always a dangerous thing in the Strider house, usually meaning the hush of a breath held in preparation for an ambush rather than an empty house. Dave cautiously peered around just in case. Bro was sprawled on the futon, long limbs taking up the entire space, as usual. The second biggest open spot was, of course, occupied by Lil Cal, who was facing the screen. When Dave wanted to sit, he had to wedge himself in between Bro’s limbs or in front of the couch.

The futon was a place of conflicting emotion for Dave. It was inarguably Bro’s territory. But if Dave made it there, it was also weirdly safe. Sure, Bro might harass him, messing with Dave’s controller or using him as a foot rest or the like, but there wasn’t any real strifing in the same way. It was one of the few places that Dave could feel safe… if he made it there, of course. And only while there was something going on at that: video games, or cartoons or shit. If the TV was off, it could be as dangerous as anywhere else. Dave guessed this was sort of his Bro’s version of family time.

Dave started forward cautiously, wondering if he should go for the futon. Movement caught his eye and he tensed, reaching for a sword. But it wasn’t his Bro, it was Cal. Not in the usual way of being flash step puppeteered somewhere else too fast for Dave to see. He simply flopped over, head lolling back, as if the puppet had decided to look at him.

Dave felt the hairs prickling at the back of his neck, and tried not to look at Cal. He was just about to head to his room when he was frozen by Bro’s voice.

“You’re home early.” Bro said, without looking at Dave or interrupting his game at all in any way.

“Yeah.” Dave said, biting back his instinct to babble. That could be dangerous with Bro. Besides, maybe if he said nothing, Bro would think he rushed back in record time…

“You haven’t done your homework.”

Or, not. How did Bro even know that? Did he have cameras on Dave’s bag as well as around the apartment or something? “Yeah I figure I could just do it here for once I guess.”

Bro’s head turned towards Dave. Dave’s poker face held, but he didn’t breathe either. Bro turned back to the game. “Sure.”

It took every ounce of control Dave had to release his breath slowly and quietly, like a normal breath, instead of a fast, deep exhale. He started forward, then stopped, remembering. Now was probably a good time to show Bro the rap. There was a tension in the air and Dave had a feeling he wouldn’t be allowed to make it all the way to his room without a strife.

“Oh yeah I’m supposed to give you this.” Dave said, casually. Bro said nothing, but Dave could _feel_ the gaze intensify behind the glasses.  
Bro plucked the assignment from Dave’s hand. Dave wasn’t sure whether he read the rap first, or the red note that screamed from the page. Dave stared at the mirrored note in Bro’s glasses trying to read the reversed version to distract himself.

Finally Bro tossed the paper to the table. “Order some pizza. I gotta call your teacher real quick.”

“Cool.” Said Dave, barely biting back his smile in time. Not only was dinner assured, but Bro telling Dave to order meant he was letting Dave pick the toppings. Bro definitely approved.

Dave pulled out his phone and spared a glance at his Bro. He was splayed over the futon, pulling out his own phone, and Dave decided to retreat to his own room to order the pizza. Not that eavesdropping on the phone call wouldn’t be entertaining as hell, but Dave was still kind of hungry. Alright, he was _always_ pretty hungry, but if he ordered while Bro was distracted he could probably get away with getting some extra pizzas in there.

Dave tried to make the call quick, but Bro had already finished by the time he had returned to the living room. He was sprawled on the couch again, as if he hadn’t moved at all since Dave got home.

“We’re heading to class early tomorrow to speak to your teacher.” Bro said without looking.

“Okay cool.” Dave said. At least he hadn’t missed the show after all. He glanced at where Cal was taking up the best spot on the couch.

As if reading his mind, Bro added “Homework. Now.”

Dave’s neck hairs prickled at the hint of warning in Bro’s voice. “Well obviously yeah that’s what I was just going to do but I wanted to let you know that as we speak some pizza dough is being rolled out and making some eyes at some marinara-”

“Dave.” Bro stopped playing for just a moment. He hadn’t yet had to hit pause. If he hit pause, he always followed it up by grabbing his sword.

Dave dashed into the other room as fast as he could, closing the door behind him and pulled out his homework.

 

He finished it and finally had a chance to talk to John. He had barely typed a word when the doorbell rang. Dave paused, listening. No sound came from the living room. Not the game, not Bro opening the door. Dave frowned slightly, but stood. He peered down the empty hall. He grabbed a sword before heading to the front door.

Pizza money was balanced on top of the proboscis this time, in the shape of an origami smuppet. Dave flushed, plucking it off, and unfolding it to check. Just enough for pizza with tip, so Bro knew how much the pizza had cost… had he heard Dave order? Dave had assumed he was busy talking on the phone. It wasn’t really a big deal, but it left Dave vaguely uneasy when Bro subtly showed just how little passed without his knowing.

The doorbell rang again, and Dave’s gaze jerked towards it. Dammit, he was already in Strife mode… He opened the door, staring at a bored looking teenager. The look of boredom shifted to one of disbelief, then terror as the pizza’s guys swept from Dave’s shade, to his sword, and then slowly took in the puppets and weapons that filled the room behind him.

“Uhhh… I’ve got… ...uh… pizza….” He said. “For… um… a Mr. Strider?”

“Yeah, here.” Dave said, handing over the bills.

The pizza boy checked it over, then handed the stacks of pizza boxes. “Did you… uh… did you want some change?”

“Nah,” said Dave, and then turned, kicking the door closed with a foot. It had barely clicked when the warmth of the pizza boxes vanished suddenly from his arms. His heart sank, even as his gaze darted around the room, settling on Bro. He was leaning casually against the futon, sword held casually over one shoulder. Past it, Dave could see the still warm pizzas sitting on top of a pile of xbox games.

Dave took his sword, hand sweaty against the hilt. He figured this was going to happen. Took a deep breath in, and before he could breathe out again _Cal_ was on him. Dave swallowed a cry of alarm, barely twitching his blade into place to block in time.

Oh God, he should have guessed. Of _course_ Bro would attack him with Cal. He swept his arms up, deflecting some of the puppets blows, being hit by others, never managing to hit Cal himself. He winced: puppet or not, Bro didn’t hold back with Cal, and the pain of the blows against his bruises almost made his eyes tear. No, not almost. Not even close. Dave didn’t cry, full stop.

Dave swiped at Cal, then got slapped in the face. He stepped back, holding his cheek, startled. Normally, Bro avoided his face. It wasn’t that bad a hit, at least, the sting already gone. Cal didn’t stop, and Dave didn’t get a chance to dwell on it.

This repeated: Cal’s blows seemed to soften, but now they fell everywhere. The unexpected range of the attack took Dave by surprise, and he found himself having to twist more to extend his range. The blows fell more frequently, often hitting bruises and seeming to double the stinging.

Out of his corner eye, Dave saw Bro. He was flash stepping so quickly, he appeared to be still, just watching and eating pizza. By the looks of things, he had already finished an entire box. Dave felt a twinge of panic and redoubled his efforts.

He managed to deflect several slaps from Cal, and then the puppet landed one--right on his crotch. Dave stumbled slightly, stunned by the hit. It was even softer than the last few, barely a tap. But genitalia especially had been off limits for so long that for a moment, he couldn’t think. As his brain started to catch up, Dave felt his cock twitch in response.

Oh god. No. Fuck no. This was _not_ happening. There was no fucking way that he was so damn needy that he getting off on being touched by _Cal_. Dave stumbled back, holding up his blade defensively, and prayed that Bro did not notice the twitching in his pants.

There was a half second pause, and then suddenly Cal unleashed a volley of slaps everywhere, spinning around Dave like a whirlwind. There was a myriad of pinpricks of sharp pain where Cal slapped at a bruise, no matter how lightly. Yet a few places that were slapped in the wild flurry- crotch, even ass and nipples, the brief sting was followed by a weird sort of pleasure that remained trembling in Dave’s body. Dave staggered, taking several steps back, barely holding up his sword now. His body was fucking betraying him, and he hated it.

“Christ, are you even trying Dave? You were doing halfway decent yesterday but apparently half a day of giving you a break is enough for you to nosedive into being a complete fuck up.” Bro said, and the assault mercifully stopped. Dave swallowed, saying nothing, heat rising to his face. The scorn in Bro’s voice burned, but it was the disappointment that left Dave feeling completely hollow.

“Just take it. I don’t have time for this if you aren’t even going to make a fucking effort.” Bro said, tossing a box at Dave. Dave almost fumbled it, and said nothing, staring downward. He felt like a child who had wet the bed. The fact that he was growing aroused just made it worse, and he sure as hell didn’t want Bro to see.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Bro said, turning away from him.

Dave didn’t need to be told twice, retreating to his room. He closed the door, then stared at the pizza box. It was far too light. He opened it, and sure enough, there was two full pieces, and another with a bite in it. Dave had no idea how Bro managed to scarf the rest so quickly.

He leaned back against the door, sliding down. His stomach growled, and he stuffed a pizza in his mouth. He finished quickly, and sat there. Hungry, horny, and feeling like a piece of fucking garbage.

He finally forced himself up, trudged to the computer. He was originally planning to shut it off, simply done with the day. But he saw John’s cheerful blue text, and he hesitated. He sank into the seat instead. He began talking to John, and as he did, he felt as if he was shedding some of the weight of the exchange. He even found himself laughing by the end.

As he did, he realized he didn’t want to leave things as they were with his Bro. He just couldn’t stand Bro’s disappointment, especially not if they were going in to talk to the teacher the next day. It would turn something that could have been hilarious and cool into something awful. He started typing a goodbye, and then froze, eyes widening as his brain caught up with his fingers and he froze right before hitting enter. Blood red words glared up at him.

 

****thanks man not sure what id do without you** **

 

Ok what the hell was he typing. Dave quickly deleted it, blushing even though it wasn’t seen. That was so stupidly cheesy. He switched it up.

 

**TG: i need to get some shut eye**

**TG: teacher wanted me called in for swearing on my rap homework so bro and i are meeting her early tomorrow**

**TG: were going to troll her so hard its going to be great**

****EB: haha, that sounds totally awesome!** **

**EB: pranking teachers is the best.**

**EB: wait a second, your school has rap homework? that's the dumbest thing i've ever heard.**

****TG: no man its sick** **

**TG: check it:**

 

Dave typed it up, and spent another ten minutes past what he planned talking to John before realizing that if he wanted to get any sleep, he had to go talk to Bro.

He finally shut the computer down that time, just so the temptation to keep talking to John wouldn’t be there. He bit his lip, glanced at his pants. His boner had faded without any touches to keep it going, and with the distraction John offered. If he got aroused during a strife again, though…

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. It wouldn’t help anything. And it would probably just make it happen because he was thinking about it or something dumb like that.

Dave stretched, grabbed his sword, and headed out of the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, and sweat tickled his bruises. He entered the living room. It was empty, and silent. Dave tensed.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, there was a blade at his throat.

“I seem to recall telling you to get the fuck out.” Bro growled in his ear.

Dave swallowed. He knew that Bro wouldn’t actually kill him or anything, but it was hard not to be at least a little terrified to have a sword at his neck. No. Don’t freak out. Breath in. “Don’t go easy on me, Bro.”

Bro went still for a moment, and Dave risked twisting his neck very slightly so he could see part of Bro’s face. Bro’s lip twitched upwards.

Bro moved the sword away, giving Dave the chance to face him like a man. Bro did not go easy on him. His sword whipped at Dave’s flesh, hard enough to actually cause him to bleed in a few places, even though he was using the flat of the blade. Bruises were bruised again, and the pain was intense.

But Dave embraced it, using it to strengthen himself, and to try to ward off any sort of arousal this time. It was easier with hard hits then the gentle taps from Cal. Dave focused, and even managed to deflect several blows. His muscles still ached a bit from the day before, but he ignored the pain, and focused on Bro’s movements as hard as he could, trying to follow them.

It didn’t last very long. Dave was just still too sore from last time. But Dave peeled himself up to go again until his body wouldn’t respond. Even then, he clung to his sword, remembering from last time.

And when he finally managed to open his eyes, Bro was holding a pizza box out. He didn’t hand it to this time. He waited until Dave forced his trembling muscles to obey, taking the seemingly heavy box, opening it, and pulling out a pizza himself. There was an entire half of a pizza left! Dave didn’t wait, taking a bite right there.

Bro smirked in amusement, watching Dave devour the rest of the pizza, and then passing him a soda to follow it up with. It was sort of gross and nowhere as good as AJ but Dave was thirsty and guzzled it.

“Get to bed.” Bro said. Dave rose, trying to obey, but he was exhausted from eating pizza, his abdominal muscles trembling. Bro raised an eyebrow, and continued. “Or do you need to be carried again, princess?”

Dave flushed. Come on, he couldn’t just undo all the work he just did tonight. He tried to force himself up.

Without letting him finish trying, Bro scooped him up, this time bridal style. Dave’s face burned, but he knew better than protesting, and he let Bro carry him to the bed, upon which he was dropped without ceremony.

There was a wisp against Dave’s hair, almost like a gentle breeze. It took a moment for Dave to realize it had been the briefest of gentle pats from Bro. He looked up, eyes wide, but Bro was already leaving, closing the door behind him without a word.

Dave’s forehead almost seemed to tingle. He couldn’t remember the last time Bro had actually touched him _gently_.

He sank back into the mattress, pulling off his shades and setting them next to the bed. His last thought before he struggled to ignore the way his body screamed in pain was how utterly and completely worth it that had been.

  


It was dark, everywhere black except for the figure before him.

It was Bro, tall and imposing as ever, but there was something _off_ about the way he held himself, his positioning. Dave’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Dave saw that there were was seemed to be strings, wrapped around Bro’s limbs and neck. They led off into the darkness, and Dave couldn’t quite see well where, except for the bright, dead blue eyes. He knew, _knew knew knew_ who’s eyes those were.

Bro shuddered, drawing Dave’s attention back to him. Dave wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t want his Bro to know he was scared. There was a tugging at the strings, which seemed to gleam in the light, and Bro lifted a hand, reached forward.

Dave wanted to flinch, to dodge, but it was also going slowly, which meant he wasn’t _meant_ to dodge it. Bro’s hand landed on his hair, but not with the force Dave was expecting. Instead, it gently brushed back Dave’s hair, caressing him with the tenderness Bro usually reserved for his puppets.

Bro’s hand lifted limply, pulled back, flopped down, stroked again. Dave trembled. It wasn’t out of fear now, but a confused sort of pleasure. He had been starved for a touch like this for so long he had forgotten what the hunger meant until this moment. He wanted to lean into the touch, to cling to his Bro like he had as a child and soak in the comfort it offered, but he was too scared. Not even of the situation anymore, but of breaking the spell, of any sort of movement simply making Bro stop, like this was all just another test. So he remained still.

Bro shuddered again, and Dave felt Bro’s hand twitch, fingers convulsing inward. It was a pleasant sensation, the way Bro’s fingers rubbed against Dave’s scalp, but it didn’t feel like an intentional motion. Something wet and stick dripped onto Dave’s hair, and he looked up.

The muscles of Bro’s arm were tightened, and the gleaming strings were digging into his arm and wrist and hand, and he was _bleeding_ now, dripping down his fingers, blood soaking into Dave’s hair and skin until they matched his eyes. Dave could see Bro clenching his teeth, like even now, Bro didn’t _want_ to show Dave any sort of affection, would rather caress and cuddle and pet his puppets than his brother, would rather offer Dave swords and blows.

Dave swallowed, and now his yearning to be close to his Bro was confused, uncertain. Did it really even count, if his Bro didn’t want it? Yet part of him didn’t care, wanted to lean in anyway, to savor the moment, which was all the more messed up with the blood dripping down like that, itchy against Dave’s skin. As if in response to his own desire, he felt something thin and soft brush against his throat, then lazily loop around. It was one of the strings, Dave realized. Fear laced through him and he reached up to pull it away. But it had already finished it’s loop, and subtly tightened, almost in warning. A sharp, thin pain laced through Dave, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t string, he realized. It was wire.

Dave whimpered involuntarily, hated himself for it and for how pathetic it made him sound. His hand twitched, desperate to breathe. Bro froze for a second, for several of the heartbeats that pounded, loud and desperate, in Dave’s ears. Then he resumed petting Dave. The wire loosened slightly, and Dave gasped for breath. The wire tugged gently, digging into the back of his neck until he shifted after it, letting his head fall against his Bro’s stomach. The wire loosened again, but didn’t leave entirely, clinging as a dark reminder to obey.

Bro moved again, lifting Dave like one of his puppets. Dave was placed into Bros lap, petted and cuddled. He felt so impossibly small. Dave was trembling again, and hated that Bro was holding him and must _know_ he was trembling _,_ must be able to feel it in his arms and against his chest. Know he was weak and terrified and yet still, _still_ desperate for more. Know how affected he was. Dave risked a glance upwards, not tilting his head for fear of the wire tightening again. He saw his Bro looking down at him, and realized with a shock that his Bro was crying: small streams of tears trailing down the unreadable face from the impenetrable shadow of his shades. Dave’s heart almost stopped. Bro never cried. Never once, in Dave’s entire existence, and the tears terrified him beyond anything else.

 

Dave woke up, gasping for breath, body in a cold sweat. He was tangled in his sheets, one of them had even managed to loop around his neck. Dave shivered, staring into his shadowed room. He forced himself to look around, terrified his eyes would meet those cold blue ones. But only the frozen faces of creatures long dead stared back at him, members of his collection. They were somehow comforting. At least they had once been alive.

Dave leaned back, ran a hand through his hair. He tried closing his eyes, but  even as he did, he knew there was no way he was getting any more sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written for, um, probably at least a decade. Hope you guys enjoy it. I'll probably continue it whenever, but comments will definitely encourage the process and speed things up, because I am completely a feedback whore.  
> Sorry for any OOCness, I tried my best, but it's always hard to grok someone else's characters.


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